Battle of Kurikara Valley

The Taira remained unmoved by Kiyomori's sudden death and Kiso Yoshinaka's relentless pressure.

On the contrary, under Munemori's leadership, a kind of apocalyptic extravagance permeated the Taira Clan's mansion.

On stage, the sounds of traditional Chinese string and wind instruments filled the air, and dancers with colorful sleeves fluttered in the breeze.

Munemori, seated high in the main seat, his face flushed, was exchanging toasts and laughing loudly with his retainers and nobles, seemingly oblivious to the growing war brewing in the Northern Lands and the increasingly heavy dark clouds hanging over his family.

"Drink! We won't leave until we're drunk! With this, the Taira will be as solid as a rock!"

Koremori sat a little further away, his food and drink untouched.

He looked at the scene of debauchery before him, his brows furrowed, and his fingers unconsciously clenched the hem of his clothes.

He abruptly stood up, left his seat, and walked out into the cold night.

Shigehira had been watching his nephew's expression closely. Seeing this, he put down his wine cup and quietly followed him out.

A biting wind swept through the corridor, instantly dispelling the warmth and merriment of the banquet.

Koremori stood on the steps, gazing at the dark, starless night sky, his chest heaving violently.

Shigehira walked to his side, said nothing, and simply handed him a cloak.

Koremori didn't answer. He turned around abruptly, his eyes burning with a flame completely different from his usual gentle demeanor. "Uncle Shigehira! You've seen it too! Samurai from Echū, Kaga, Echizen are flocking to Kiso Yoshinaka's command! Their momentum is like a wildfire!"

"But what is Uncle Munemori, the head of the Taira clan, doing? He only knows how to feast and drink every day, living a life of debauchery!"

"If this continues, before Minamoto no Yoritomo of the Tōkaidō even sets foot in Kyoto, Minamoto no Yoshinaka of the Hokurikudō will be there, threatening to collapse the city walls!"

Shigehira stared at Koremori in shock. He had never seen such fierce killing intent on the face of his nephew, who always carried a melancholy and timid air.

The crushing defeat at Fujikawa seemed not to have broken him, but rather, like a tempered hammer, it brought out certain aspects of his Taira Samurai nature.

"No matter what—" Koremori took a deep breath, "This is the only thing we must avoid! We absolutely cannot let Minamoto no Yoshinaka set foot in Kyoto!"

After speaking, Koremori's gaze passed over Shigehira and landed on Shintarō had been standing silently like a shadow in the shade of the corridor pillar.

Shintarō was still dressed in his dark Ninja attire, his eyes calm as an ancient well, reflecting the distant lights of the banquet hall and the burning determination in Koremori's eyes.

"Shintarō," Koremori's voice regained its calmness, yet was more forceful than before, "I'm leaving the Ninja situation to you."

Shintarō nodded.

The next moment, his figure vanished silently from the spot, like an ink droplet merging into the night.

Only Koremori and Shigehira remained in the corridor.

A cold wind swept through, carrying with it the faint echoes of lingering revelry from the banquet hall.

Looking at his nephew's straight back in the cold wind, Shigehira was filled with mixed emotions.

He patted Koremori on the shoulder and whispered, "Go inside, it's cold outside."

Koremori's initiative to volunteer has been an encouragement to the Taira.

This makes people realize that there are still some young members of the Taira who are willing to stand up in times of crisis and try to turn the tide.

The sunlight was just right in the courtyard.

Sukemori, Kiyotsune, and Atsumori gathered together, while Shinrei quietly stood guard not far away.

Kiyotsune's face flushed with excitement, and his voice was louder than usual. "Brother Koremori is leading troops to attack Kiso Yoshinaka! I heard that you are exceptionally brave and powerful this time, completely different from when you were at Fujikawa! You have already captured the beacon tower in Echizen!"

Atsumori was handing a pretty comb with a little rabbit painted on it to Shinrei. Hearing this, she turned her head, a longing look on her delicate face. "That's wonderful... I really want to join the war and do my part for the Taira."

Sukemori, however, leaned lazily against a pillar, toying with a fallen leaf in his hand. Hearing this, he curled his lip and said, "I think the upcoming banquet by the winding stream is much more interesting than fighting and killing. Only elegant matters can truly demonstrate our refinement."

Two boys, both younger than him, turned around at the same time and stared at him with identical Dead-Fish Eyes.

Sukemori felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze, and retorted with a stiff neck, "What? Am I wrong? Fighting is a matter for warriors; strategic planning and mastery of refined arts are the true skills!"

Kiyotsune bluntly retorted, "I really can't see when you've ever used your brain for 'strategizing'."

"What did you say?!" Sukemori immediately bristled.

Atsumori reluctantly stepped between the two, skillfully acting as a peacemaker. "Alright, alright, you two! The most important thing now is to pray for Koremori's victory!" He looked into the distance, his eyes filled with expectation.

Kiyotsune nodded vigorously, full of confidence. "Our army has 100,000 men, while the enemy has no more than 50,000! With your current spirit, brother, there's nothing to fear!"

However, there is no game on the battlefield.

The scene shifts, and a chilling atmosphere immediately sets in.

The cold winds of the Northland howled, whipping up sand and gravel that lashed against the icy armor.

The Taira's 100,000-strong army had a continuous range of camps, with red Ageha butterfly banners fluttering in the wind, creating an impressive sight.

The campsite chosen by Koremori was located on the edge of an open valley, backed by mountains, with a flat view in front.

Based on his teachings and general understanding of military strategy, this was the ideal place for a decisive battle, where the Taira could take advantage of their numerical superiority and crush the enemy.

"We'll rest here today, and tomorrow morning we'll form ranks and fight to the death against Kiso Yoshinaka!"

As the sun set and the moon rose, darkness, like thick ink, swiftly engulfed the valley and the camp.

Logically speaking, given the sky and the mountainous terrain, it would be impossible for the enemy to launch a large-scale night attack.

Identifying friend from foe, command and control, and terrain obstacles are all insurmountable hurdles.

However, they were facing Kiso Yoshinaka, who had grown up in the Kiso Mountains and whose Samurai knew every ravine and every grove of forest as well as the mountains and wolves under his command.

Nightfall became his best cover.

Just as the campfires in the Taira were gradually lit, the soldiers were taking off their armor and resting, and the patrol teams were becoming slightly lax due to fatigue from days of military service.

Uchiha Izuna's chanting, with its strange rhythm and penetrating power, pierced the false tranquility like an icicle emerging from the depths of darkness.

"The Taira clan—looking back—"

Almost as soon as he sang his lyrics, countless points of white light lit up one after another on the mountain outlines of the Taira army formation behind and to the sides of the stage!

That wasn't starlight, nor was it a campfire.

It's a flag! It's the Minamoto's white flag!

The Genjutsu effects, combined with the actors' precise movements and the lighting, created a chilling scene.

It seemed as if the mountains and fields were covered with fluttering white flags! Like a silent white tide, or a ghost emerging from the rifts of hell, they subtly surrounded the entire Taira camp!

The Samurai on Minamoto's side let out a deafening shout, a prelude to their attack.

--White flags were everywhere!

The singing continued, the pitch suddenly rising, taking on a rapid, metallic quality:

"Enemy troops are attacking from both the front and rear!"

"Enemy attack--!"

"White flag! It's Minamoto!"

"Charge!" Koremori shouted, knowing he had to take command now. "Don't be afraid!"

However, panic was like a spark thrown into boiling oil, instantly igniting a fire! The camp, which had been relatively quiet just moments before, erupted into chaos in an instant!

On stage, the actors playing Ninjas from both sides clashed first!

With an agility far exceeding that of ordinary soldiers, they darted and weaved through the shadows of the camp, the fences, and the tops of the tents. The cold glint of Shurikens and the Kakkō from clashing Ninjutsu exploded sporadically, but they failed to illuminate the way ahead, instead adding to the chaos.

The crowd fled in panic, terrified by Minamoto no Yoshinaka's Fire Ox Technique, and ran in the opposite direction, only to find a deep cliff ahead.

"People pushed and shoved—they all fell down—"

At this moment, Izuna's singing style turned mournful, Biwa strings emitted a sharp, scraping sound.

On stage, meticulously designed choreography combined with Genjutsu presents a hellish scene.

The actors playing Taira soldiers, amidst simulated pushing, trampling, and slipping, screamed and fell into the unseen abyss in various horrified and desperate postures.

Screams, screams, the mournful neighing of warhorses, the clanging of armor against rocks... all intertwined to create a symphony of death.

"A deep valley—burying 70,000 of the Taira's cavalry."

"The spring is stained with blood—corpses lie piled up like pillows..."

The central command tent where Koremori was located was also subjected to a fierce attack.

He tried to organize resistance, shouting at the top of his lungs, but amidst the deafening sounds of collapse, his commands vanished instantly, like pebbles thrown into a raging storm.

A stray arrow grazed past his helmet, sending sparks flying.

More fleeing soldiers rushed toward his guards like headless flies.

"My lord! We can't hold on any longer! We must break through!" Zhongqing roared hoarsely, his face covered in blood.

Just then, a dark figure, like a ghost, darted through the chaotic crowd and appeared precisely beside Koremori; it was none other than Shintarō.

Without saying a word, he grabbed Koremori's arm with surprising force.

"Walk!"

He covered Koremori, and amidst the rout and sporadic attacks, he used his Ninja's extraordinary agility and sense of danger to carve a bloody path through the chaos.

The other generals and guards who reacted faster also instinctively followed the black figure, rushing desperately toward the weakest point in the southern encirclement.

The flash of blades, the shadow of arrows, screams, falling bodies... everything rushed past me.

Koremori was half-dragged and half-pulled by Shintarō, mechanically moving his legs, and then pushed onto the horse.

His mind went blank, and all he could hear was the sound of the wind and the seemingly endless clamor from the depths of hell.

After an unknown amount of time, the shouts of battle and the sounds of falling objects behind them gradually faded away.

Koremori stared into the darkness before him, and tears suddenly fell in the wind.

He couldn't help but scream, "That's... hell!"